


In Blood and Breath (And Bone)

by significantowl



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: College, F/M, POV Multiple, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 22:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8915224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/pseuds/significantowl
Summary: It won’t be long now - she’s on the stairs. Her feet are light and quick; her heart’s thrumming fast. Elektra’s blood has become part of his lexicon, a new point of reference for words like dazzling. For bright.

(Matt, Elektra, and the language of bodies.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, Marmolita! I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Many thanks to [redacted] and [redacted]!

i. 

Elektra’s ready to go.

Matt hears it in her blood the moment she steps into the building. She’s three floors away, and the message is loud and clear; behind her, the slam of the heavy library doors is a cymbal crash, a statement.

_Now_.

Matt doesn’t know _where_ she has in mind, or _what_ , only that every second he continues to sit in this hardbacked chair and skim his fingers along a page he’ll be testing her patience. There’s fun in that, right up to a certain point, because he’ll be testing his own too. 

His body’s saying go, go, go. Slam the book, push back the chair, head for the door. But Matt can make it listen, and he will; he’ll wait for her to come to him. 

Turn the page, heavy paper rustling between slightly shaky fingers. Roll his shoulders, work out the kinks. Start a new paragraph he’s never going to finish. 

It won’t be long now - she’s on the stairs. Her feet are light and quick; her heart’s thrumming fast. Elektra’s blood has become part of his lexicon, a new point of reference for words like _dazzling_. For _bright_.

He likes it that way. There's no heat like her sun.

Matt fakes obliviousness as Elektra sweeps through the tables of frazzled college students, offering no reaction until she’s perched in front of him, half-sitting on his book. He tips his head back, giving her arched eyebrows and feigned surprise, and is rewarded with a quiet exhale of amusement.

“What’s this?” Matt fumbles a hand onto Elektra’s knee. “A new chapter?” Smooth silk, cut close to her skin. “Property law gets more interesting all the time.” 

“Better make certain you're reading closely, Matthew. What if there's a test later?”

“Oh, I think I'm getting a good grasp on things,” Matt says. He trails his fingers higher, then squeezes her thigh, digging into firm, sleek muscle. Her heartbeat likes that; his does too.

Three tables away, a stranger’s seems to be enjoying it as well. Matt’s spent half his life bearing the weight of people’s attention, but when he shares it with Elektra, it’s something entirely new: not a weight at all, but an ease, a lightness, lifting him up. His hand moves higher, gripping her waist, then higher still, sliding up her ribs, nestling beneath her breast. He can feel her pulse so easily now, her blood beating against his palm, her warmth soaking into his skin.

He can feel it between his legs, echoing, pounding. Ready, ready, ready - 

She can't hear his pulse. She can't hear his dick throb and fill. And his will is good: he hasn't so much as shifted in his chair, completely ignoring his body’s call for pressure over his groin. But maybe his face gave him away. Or maybe Elektra will just always know when he's had enough.

Putting her mouth to his ear is playing dirty, but then, that's what they do. “Take me out, Matthew,” she whispers. He fights the shiver running down his spine. He can hold his ground against her breath in his ear, though, they both know that; those times when she dips between his legs and whispers over his balls, he jerks and shouts and it invariably all ends with Elektra kissing tears from the corners of his eyes. “Take me _out_. Wine me, dine me, fuck me, fight me.”

Matt swallows. “You, ah. Committed to doing things in that order?”

“Why, do you think you have a better idea?” Elektra leans back, waving a hand in the air. “By all means, make your case.”

“Well, if there was just a little more to your skirt, here.” Matt skates his left hand along her thigh, while his right is still tucked snugly near her heart, drinking in its beat. “Bit more fabric. Just enough to keep us from a public indecency charge… I could pull you in my lap right now. Start the night with a fuck.”

“What, no shocking the poor little bookworms? Maybe it would be good for them.” There’s a pout in Elektra’s voice. “I could sit there anyway. For fun.”

Matt determinedly ignores the uptick in her pulse; ignores every sign that she’s inches away from making good on it. “I doubt I’m dressed well enough for any of your restaurants,” he definitely won’t be if her warm, perfect weight in his lap makes him come in his pants, “so I guess that leaves us with sparring, right? A good fighter can win wearing anything.”

Or nothing at all. The language of the ring is the language of bodies.

Elektra’s pleased: her blood’s burning bright. It’s enough to make Matt throw the game, abandoning patience for the new test that’s to come. He stretches up to kiss her, and when their lips meet her fingers dig hard into his skull, an opening strike.

It’s time to go. They’ll fight and they’ll fuck, and win or lose, the night won’t end until every inch of Matt’s skin and every beat of his heart hums in perfect tune with hers.

He knows, because he knows her.

 

ii. 

Morning in Elektra's penthouse is the rising sun warming the back of Matt's neck, and cool silk whispering over his skin. It's the hum of the city, thousands of bees in a hive: delivery trucks with hissing air brakes, the rattle of subway trains, water rushing through pipes for hot showers, spoons clattering into bowls of cereal.

It's the rise and fall of her breath, more present to Matt’s ears than any other sound. Soft and sweet and slow, Matt is half-lulled by, half in thrall to the air slipping in and out of her lungs. 

He drifts for long moments. Time is the path of the sun as it travels along his back, and the growing buzz as more and more bees wake up and start the day. It’s immaterial. Everything is _Elektra_ , and it’s not until the sensation of silk gliding over his dick hits him that Matt's head snaps back in tune with his body. He's shifting through the sheets towards her, seeking out her warmth.

Matt burrows close, pressing his chest to her back, his nose to her neck, his palm to her hip. His dick’s swelling, but that's nothing to hide; Elektra loves all the quirks of his body. She loves knowing he wants her. She loves waking up with the flush of power in her veins. And why shouldn't she?

It's all there in Elektra’s swift inhale as she stirs; it's in her sleepy, pleased chuckle as she says, “Well, good morning, Matthew.”

Kissing her skin feels like the best reply. Her throat rises gently under his lips; nestled against her curves, Matt's dick twitches. But he doesn't rock closer. He doesn't shift his hips. He only lets his fingers roam, softly skimming along Elektra's side and across her stomach. When the rhythm of her breathing changes, when she drags air in slow and deep, his pulse ticks up eagerly, wanting…. A beat later she sighs, arching back against him, and that's all it takes - Matt's hips drive up, and he moans, no thought of shame, into the nape of her neck. 

Elektra laughs, low. Her leg slides slowly along Matt's, and the soft glide of skin on skin as her thighs part is an invitation. Matt doesn't need to be told twice. He guides his dick into the space she's made just for him, snug under the curve of her ass, pinned between her thighs. Warmth, and weight. He's getting harder.

And his hands are still roaming. His left settles at the center of Elektra's chest, riding the tide of her breath. When Matt traces the curve of her breast with his right hand, thumb sliding over a nipple, her slight catch of air fills his ears and reverberates through his palm. It's _his_ , just as the pulse of his blood, pounding between her thighs, is hers.

“I'm brilliant,” Elektra says on a sigh. “No clothes allowed in the bed. It's a good rule.”

“Yeah. A very good rule. I feel sorry for everyone who hasn't thought of it.”

“Mm. That's nice. You worry about them, I'll worry about more important things.” Elektra’s touching herself, fingers dipping down between her legs, commanding Matt’s attention as they work her clit, just inches from his dick. He’s rocking slowly into her heat, feeling slickness along his length - a little because of her, a little because of him. 

Last night they were rougher, wilder, matching each other strength for strength. She bit his neck, his lips, his chest; he pulled her hair, pinned her wrists.

Sometimes they’re like that. Sometimes they’re like this.

Elektra’s fingertip brushes the head of his dick, and Matt jerks hard enough to knock his chin against her shoulder. He’s more prepared when she does it again, holding himself steady when she presses her thumb to his slit, so of course she throws him off his game an instant later; “Don’t let that get soft,” she says, and rolls away towards the edge of the bed.

“Wouldn't dream of it.” It feels good to palm himself, and Matt rubs nice and slow. A rustle in a bedside drawer and a crinkle of plastic later, Elektra’s back, and he’s curved up hard and ready for the condom in her hand.

He likes it when she squeezes, making him twitch and swell that much more before she slides the condom down. He likes the weight of her palm on his shoulder, guiding him onto his back. When she leans down and kisses him, it's a gift; her breath into his lungs, her life into his chest. 

What's hers is his.

But breath slips away. Some things always do. Maybe one day Matt will have more sense than to chase something so fleeting, but today he cups Elektra's cheek as she breaks the kiss, and lets his hand slide down to weigh against her throat as she straddles his hips.

When she draws him inside of her, Elektra’s throat flutters, a hitch of air that Matt matches in a nearly perfect echo. She squeezes around him, and Matt’s fingers tighten helplessly around her neck. She’s going to ride him slowly, and before he’s ready, he’s going to break. 

In, and out. Inhale, and exhale. Matt holds on to what he can. 

 

(& iii.)

Some mornings Elektra wakes up alone. 

She prefers waking up with Matthew. Each day that begins with him in her bed rather than a musty dormitory cot uptown is another victory, proof of work well done; but there are simpler pleasures, and perhaps the unexpected ones are the most worthy of all.

His voice, his smile, his breath, his body... Elektra had been prepared to hate all the trappings of Matthew Murdock. Every small piece of him. She’d had years of hating the whole.

When he comes - when she _makes_ him come - Matthew’s mouth falls open and his head arches back and blood stains his cheeks. Elektra likes to take him with sunlight streaming over his face, framing the picture he makes for her, and she likes to do it in the night, shadows gathering in hollow places, giving shape to his bones.

Elektra appreciates the base elegance of skeleton and sinew. Truth lies in marrow, and unseen, moves the world.

The facade Matthew wears from day to day is a pretty one, constructed long ago. But Matthew beneath her, Matthew inside her, Matthew _breaking_ is gorgeous, and best of all, every splinter is hers.

When she kisses him, she means it. It’s a dangerous thing, losing a grip on hate, but Elektra's never been one for safety blades.

Her penthouse is cold, some mornings. She’s quick to leave her bed for breakfast - coffee, toast, an orange - and stands by her windows while the machine brews. Looking out at the city, skyscrapers frozen in their ranks like toy soldiers, she wraps her robe around herself, tying the sash tight enough for it to feel like hands around her waist.

Elektra’s ready. 

Glass shatters and bone cracks, and Elektra knows about breaking points. One day - not today, no, but soon, soon - Matthew will be ready, too.

Elektra will hold a thousand cracked pieces in her hands, and draw out the beauty inside.


End file.
